Alone
by Syncop8ed Rhythm
Summary: "It's over, I promise." It hurt to hear that voice because it was nothing but a hallucination. He had been alone for too long to believe it was real, that his brother was there. Light, warmth, his brother...they were nothing but cruel dreams to him now.
1. Chapter 1

Dark. Everything was dark, black. No light, no sun.

No warmth. Cold, so cold. Shivers wracked his body, and his chattering teeth filled the silence—the all-consuming silence.

He was alone. No sound, no warmth. There was pain, piercing and throbbing everywhere. It was everywhere. He curled into himself tighter, his moan breaking the silence of this black hole. He felt his mind slipping slowly as more and more time passed. Soon, he would be beyond saving, beyond recovery.

Light suddenly broke apart the darkness, and he flinched, burying his head into his arms. Before, he thought the light would bring hope, but he was wrong…it just brought pain. Pain, and a wish to return to the crushing darkness. The wish would be fulfilled eventually. He just had to wait; wait for _it_ to finish with him and leave.

He felt a touch on his arms and heard a noise. His skin felt like it was burning from the warmth of the touch and his face crinkled in confusion. _Its_ touch had only made him feel colder. The noise was getting louder now, more insistent. He retreated, pulling into himself even more, physically, emotionally; confused and weary.

_What more do you want? Just let me die now…please._

The touch grew more insistent, from a gentle grasp to a gentle shake, then to a touch on the back of his neck. The hand squeezed gently in a way that reminded him of the past. Once, people cared about him. Once, he had a brother. Whenever he was hurt or sick, his brother would do that; squeeze the nape of his neck. It was a wordless offer of comfort and support. The voice was starting to sound familiar, the tones comforting him even if he didn't understand what was being said.

It sounded like his brother.

It only took a moment for comprehension to dawn. This was a hallucination. He was going to die soon. The idea wasn't as bad as it might have been once upon a time. He'd been here in this darkness for long enough to see death as an escape from the pain, the hunger, the _nothingness_. His mind was easing the transition, giving him a calming presence to focus on before the end.

Another squeeze to his neck drew him from his thoughts back to the voice. He didn't know what words were being spoken, but just the tone was enough to remind him of better days. Each time they sat in the car, talking about everything and nothing, jokes being tossed back and forth as they teased each other. _Jerk…Bitch…_

His lips twitched into a smile. He had missed him so much this last eternity. He would have made this…this darkness bearable. A shame his mind had not been able to create the hallucination any sooner.

The voice got louder and it dawned on him that it wasn't calm and soothing, but frantic and worried. _What? _He concentrated, forcing himself to hear what "his brother" was saying and not just letting the words wash over him.

"Please, please, open your eyes. Open your eyes, it's okay. It's over, I found you."

Just as quickly as he understood the words, he felt his mind shut down. Not true. Impossible. He was disappointed. Why would the hallucination lie to him? Shouldn't it be telling him it was okay to let go?

"It's me, Dean. Come on man, open your eyes."

The words filtered through the wall he had erected, sparking the hope that had long been dead. It hurt. Too much. Wasn't it bad enough that he had to suffer through the loss of his hope? Now he had to feel it come back, too? It was just a hallucination, nothing more.

_Stop…please…Go away…_

The last two words somehow found their way out of his mouth, hoarse and whisper-soft.

"Go…go away? I'm not leaving you, Dean. I'm not. Come on, open your eyes."

He flinched when "his brother" grabbed his hands. They were clenched into tight fists and "Sam" slowly started rubbing them, loosening the muscles until the fingers straightened from their tense grip.

It was too much; the words, the hands touching him, even the light that filtered through his eyelids. It was too different, too startling for his broken mind and body to deal with. He escaped into a different darkness, his body growing limp as he welcomed oblivion.

…

He wasn't out for long, but when he woke next, he knew. He knew he was too far gone to be saved even if Sam _did_ manage to find him. The rumbling beneath him was familiar and comforting…and it felt so real…

To be able to create an illusion so strong that he could _feel _the car moving beneath him, could feel the warmth of "his brother's" arm as it wrapped around him, could feel the weight of "Sam's" hand over his heart, must mean he was even closer to death than he had thought.

His last bit of composure disappeared in that moment. His breathing hitched and he felt his face crumple. _I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry…so sorry._

"Dean?"

"His brother's" voice floated down to him and he felt the car pull to a stop.

"What's wrong?"

The hands were pushing at him and tugging until he was resting against a hard surface he recognized as the car door. One hand rested on his shoulder, the other on his neck, for support…and connection. He felt himself sway, the movement sickening him and reminding him of the pain he had momentarily forgotten about. The pain was nothing compared to the agony of wanting Sam and only having a cruel imitation.

"Sorry…sorry…'m sorry…" he whispered.

"No. No, Dean; there's nothing to be sorry for!"

"Sorry…S'mmy…sorry…"

"Dean, open your eyes." The voice was carefully commanding, gentle but firm.

"No." He shook his head, agitated. He couldn't open his eyes. None of this was real! None of it! Opening his eyes now would just show him he was still in the basement, in the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

The hallucination sighed, a noise Dean recognized as equal parts frustration and sadness. "Why not?"

"Not real," Dean huffed, not sure why he was explaining this. "You're not real…'S not real…" It hurt to say those words. There was no way to describe how badly he wanted this to be real; his car, being safe, _his brother._

The quick intake of breath was completely different from the sigh—this one showing understanding. It was the same sound Sam made every time the last piece of the puzzle fell into place on one of their cases. It was him knowing what the problem was; it was him knowing how to _fix it. _"Dean." The word was accompanied by a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "It's real, man. I promise. Trust me, Dean."

Trust. That was what it always boiled down to between the two of them. Did Dean trust his bother to watch his back? Did he trust Sam to do the right thing? To be able to pull through for Dean when he had lost all hope?

He did. He trusted him. They were brothers.

But what if…what if this was a cruel joke _it _had created? What if?

"Please…"

The word was little more than a whisper, but it packed enough force to hit Dean right in the chest. He could never deny his brother, even if this Sam was just a dream. And he trusted in Sam to believe this was real. It had to be. _Please, please be real._

He opened his eyes.

And saw his brother.

"Sam…"

* * *

><p>AN: I first became interested in Supernatural a few short months ago when I read a PsychSupernatural crossover. Long story short, crossover fics became Supernatural fics, which led to watching and owning all seasons of this show...Suffice to say, it's a new love. :) I would very much enjoy hearing what you thought of this chapter. I am (tentatively) planning on adding Sam's pov to this, if you are interested.

A huge thank you to TotallyLosingIt who read over this for me. I am forever grateful to you, my friend!


	2. Chapter 2

Sam had always had trouble keeping his priorities straight. A good example of that was when his brother had returned from hell. Sam had been so blinded by revenge, so focused on doing everything he could to kill Lilith, that he had ignored his brother and pushed aside all of his warnings. And what had happened when he had done that? Lucifer was freed. This was a drastic example of skewed priorities, yes, but in his and Dean's line of work, drastic was the norm. Being hunters, they had to keep their priorities straight or risk…well, ending the world.

He had changed since then. He had done everything he could to regain Dean's trust, to rebuild their relationship. He thought he had realigned his priorities and decided what was most important to him.

He was wrong.

Regaining his brother's trust was nothing. The most important thing was finding Dean safe and alive.

Sam dispatched the being that had taken his brother after a long, grueling fight and searched the deserted building with a growing sense of dread. His brother was supposed to be here. Dean was supposed to be in this building! But as the search continued, as room after room was cleared, panic ratcheted up another level, because Sam couldn't find him. His repeated shouts for his brother went unanswered and he was fast running out of places to check.

He was here, he had to be. Sam could feel that pull, that awareness that he and his brother had for each other, and it told him he was close. He paused in front of the last door, his hand lingering on the doorknob. He made time for one quick plea—_please, be here—_and flung the door open.

It was a basement, pitch black. It was such a suffocating darkness that he stayed in the doorway, hand scrambling against the wall for the light switch, not once looking away from the black hole that threatened to swallow him. The heavy feeling passed once the light flooded the stairs and what little of the room he could see, and he stepped hesitantly down the stairs. He held his knife in front of him, eyes sweeping across the floor until he cleared the low ceiling and saw the figure lying on the floor, cringing away from the light. He froze for a moment. _His brother…_ But it couldn't be Dean, because this pale figure was too small and too fragile to be him. It couldn't be…

The tremor that went through the figure unfroze Sam, and he ran down the final few steps, breath caught in his throat as he realized it was his brother and that he was _there_, finally, after all this time. He slid on his knees as he reached Dean's side, the knife clattering to the ground as he reached out to grasp him.

"Dean! Dean, I found you, man. It's over. Dean…Dean? It's okay; it's over, I promise. Can you open your eyes?" His pleas went unanswered, but Dean's face furrowed in confusion, as if he were trying to place the voice and the hands touching him. Sam studied his brother, noting the injuries and the bruises as he swept his eyes across the trembling body.

He let the words continue, not even bothering to think about what he was saying. He only knew that he needed to see if his brother was okay. He slid his hands down Dean's arms, letting the touch reassure him that his brother was still there, still alive.

Sam spoke louder, needing Dean to listen to him, to open his eyes and see him. The confusion changed into an expression Sam recognized as weariness as Dean slowly pulled away, tucking his hands even tighter against his body and screwing his eyes closed even further. He was shutting Sam out, in the only way his battered body allowed him to do so. The sudden swell of anger towards the being that had hurt his brother was so severe that Sam's fingers trembled with the force of it. The emotion was gone as fast as it came. He needed to keep all of his energy focused on helping Dean.

Sam kept speaking, kept telling Dean that it was over, that everything was okay, all the while hoping that his brother was hearing him. It wouldn't be the first time that one of their voices brought the other back from the darkness, but there was no sigh of relief, no smile that broke across Dean's face. He shook Dean's arm gently, but that still didn't bring any reaction from his brother. Finally, he slid his hand up to gently squeeze his brother's neck in a gesture they both were familiar with. How many times had he felt Dean clasp his neck when he had been grieving for Jess, or when he was sick or hurt? And every time he could get away with it, Sam would return the touch—although it was usually only when Dean was too sick or hurt to push away the comfort.

Dean shuddered and Sam talked faster, hoping that he was finally getting through to him. He gave another squeeze and saw Dean's eyebrows furrow. Why wouldn't he just open his eyes?

Dean's mouth quirked in amusement and Sam's voice faltered. "Dean? Come on, Dean. Please, please, open your eyes. Open your eyes, it's okay. It's over, I found you."

The agitation those words caused his brother was obvious. Dean shook his head slightly, a frown marring his face.

"It's me, Dean. Come on man, open your eyes."

Dean's mouth moved and Sam leaned even closer to him, tilting his head to catch the words.

"Go…'way…"

"Go…go away?" Sam frowned, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm not leaving you, Dean. I'm not. Come on, open your eyes." It was important. Dean had to open his eyes. This nightmare wouldn't be over until Sam saw those hazel eyes peaking out at him.

Sam grabbed Dean's hands, calmly messaging his fingers until they hung loose in Sam's hands, the tension slowly melting from his body. A few moments later and he realized the limpness wasn't only from Dean relaxing. He wasn't conscious anymore. Sam swore softly before carefully placing his hands under his brother's body and lifting.

At least he wasn't in pain anymore.

He took the time to pull his brother even closer, letting Dean's head roll forward until it rested against Sam's neck. He buried his face into Dean's shoulder, breathing "I'm sorry. So sorry."

…

He didn't know how long he had been in the basement before he emerged; he only knew that it had been late afternoon when he had started his search for Dean and that the sun was just setting when he carried his brother to the car. He hesitated beside the Impala, debating on whether he should put Dean in the back, or next to him in the front seat. The decision was made when he couldn't stomach the thought of even a seat separating him from his brother after he'd finally gotten him back. He carefully placed his brother on the seat before jogging over to the driver's side and sliding into the seat. Gently, he pulled his brother towards him, wrapping his arm around him until his palm rested against his brother's chest, the steady heartbeat reminding him of how resilient and strong Dean was.

He let his words taper off, letting the sound of Dean's beloved car fill the silence. He drove away from the building, looking into the rearview mirror to glare at the building that had hidden his brother from him. He would return later to set fire to the thing that had taken his brother from him. If he didn't think it would draw too much attention, he would be tempted to set fire to the whole building to erase any and all evidence of the torture Dean had endured.

Sam's fault. It was all Sam's fault, yet again—his brother getting hurt because Sam couldn't save him. It was the same loop repeating, over and over and over again. He should have gotten here sooner. His brother _never_ should have had to suffer through this.

He was lost in his thoughts when he felt Dean's breathing change. Glancing down, he saw Dean's face crumple, the corners of his mouth pulling down, his forehead crinkling. He had only seen that look of grief on his brother's face a few times, like when Sam had lost himself in his own grief over Jess so badly that he couldn't breathe through the broken sobs and when Dean had lost all hope and said yes to Michael. It didn't make any sense for Dean to be grieving. Unless…

"Dean?" He asked as he pulled the car over. "What's wrong?" He repositioned Dean, letting him lean against the door as he left one hand on Dean's arm, the other resting against Dean's neck.

"Sorry…sorry…'m sorry…" he whispered.

"No. No, Dean; there's nothing to be sorry for!" It didn't make sense. Why was his brother apologizing? He had done nothing wrong!

"Sorry…S'mmy…sorry…"

Sam felt his eyes fill at the broken apology. "Dean, open your eyes." The same urge that he had felt in the basement, for Dean to open his eyes and see him, returned. He had a feeling that all of this would be…not over, but _easier_ when Dean opened his eyes and saw he was safe, when he saw that Sam was there with him.

"No." Dean shook his head in agitation.

Sam huffed a sigh, his mixed emotions momentarily stilling his tongue. He was frustrated, because he needed Dean to see him and he wouldn't open his eyes! And it hurt to see his brother like this, stubbornly refusing to do something as simple as opening his eyes and seeing that his nightmare was finally over. "Why not?" He finally managed to ask.

"Not real. You're not real…'S not real…" He whispered.

Sam took a quick breath, his eyes sliding shut in comprehension, his face twisting with sorrow. _Dean. _It made sense now. If his brother didn't think this was real, if he was saying sorry…then he was apologizing for breaking. He stopped himself from rubbing a hand across his face, knowing that he would have to break his connection with his brother if he did that.

He could fix this. He could. "Dean." He squeezed Dean's shoulder. "It's real, man. I promise. Trust me, Dean."

Dean pursed his lips together, his eyebrows furrowing. He was thinking about it.

"Please." Sam said before he held his breath, afraid another word would make Dean shut down completely.

It took Dean a few moments to make his decision, but finally, _finally_, he opened his eyes.

"Sam…"

One word. One word, filled with relief and hope and _joy_ was all it took for Sam to realize that his brother had found his way back. Sam smiled, blinking away the tears that suddenly filled his eyes. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against his brother's. Despite Dean's protests in the past over his dislike of chick-flick moments, Dean wasn't pulling away, _wouldn't_ pull away; and Sam knew it was because he needed this touch, needed it to confirm what he was seeing.

Dean closed his eyes, but this time it wasn't to hide. It was in content, and the sigh that fell from his lips was another sign of his relief.

"Found…me," the exhausted voice stated.

Sam nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah. I never stopped looking."

Dean's body started to grow limp, but he managed to say one more thing before was completely out. "Thank you."

Sam shook his head and huffed. "Thank _you_," he replied. _For not giving up, for still being here. _

_For trusting me._

He let his hand rest against his brother's neck for another moment before he drove away.

* * *

><p>AN: First off, thanks again to TotallyLosingIt for checking over this chapter for me! Also, my thanks to those of you who left a review for the first chapter. I would really enjoy hearing your thoughts on this chapter, too. Until next time!<p> 


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